17: Bad Mojo at Martin’s Metalsmiths

“I hope this goes well.” Linda glanced back at the hundreds of zombies trailing them. “Without any warning we’re coming or what to expect, it may be an awkward introduction.”

“I’ve considered that,” Leza said, allowing the other women to monitor her people to practice their skills. “I’m not planning to march in and have my followers pound on their door, asking for milk and cookies. Instead they’ll stop within sight of their compound, so they can see they aren’t a threat, and we’ll continue on alone. I suspect simple curiosity will encourage a conversation. A few familiar faces from the Collective should alleviate any remaining concerns.”

“That’s good to know, but it doesn’t lesson my anxiety about walking into a potential conflict with hundreds of targets behind me. You may be able to survive death, but if they shoot first and ask questions later, I’m not sure I’ll do as well.”

“Hold on,” Leza cautioned, holding her hand up, “my people are getting edgy. Something is up. Try to keep them calm while I investigate.”

Rushing ahead, she sang to her people as she sought the source of the disruption. Her people, hearing her approaching, parted, expecting her to lead them in their uncertainty. They’d learned over time that acting on their own was a recipe for disaster. While they may not understand what was happening, they realized they could trust her judgment in difficult times.

“What’s the problem?” Rebecca asked, catching up and running beside her. “It’s easier calming everyone if we understand what’s upsetting them.”

“I’m not sure yet, but they’re agitated. They anticipate trouble, which usually means someone is scaring them or they smell fresh blood. Both are potential disasters, so keep your eyes peeled.”

Rebecca turned, pitching her voice higher to project farther without frightening the undead further. “Leza on ii, she’ll han’le ii.”

As they approached, the sounds of gunfire rolled over the roadway. Leza’s zombies added their own anguished groans, making it difficult for the women to be heard by those farther away. As Leza broke through, reaching the front edge of her people, a violent scene unfolded before them. The undead near her were dancing in place, their hands raised, fingernails and teeth exposed, ready to rush forward. Before them stood six people, men and women, fighting off a group of random zombies.

“Are they ours?” Rebecca asked, catching up.

“Unlikely. Mine know not to attack others without my say so. Besides, I don’t recognize them and they look pretty scrawny. Ours are in better shape.”

Over a dozen zombies surrounded the group, with more undead hurrying to join the upcoming blood bath. The women, armed as well, stood behind the men who used a thicket to cover their backs. The men fired at those nearest them. Several undead fell back, killed by their gunfire, but the humans couldn’t hope to defend themselves for long.

Waving her people back, Leza sang at the top of her lungs, abandoning caution. Her technique worked. Her people turned to stare, ignoring the conflict before them, while those nearest halted their assault, turning to see who the new interloper was.

“Com, we offer zaffy. We proect you! We’ll fee you. Leave the livin.”

To Rebecca and the women with her, her words were clear. Only a week ago, they wouldn’t have understood a word, nor realized the zombies could understand. The local residents weren’t likely to either.

Intrigued, a few of the undead not actively engaged in the assault gravitated to Leza, who walked ahead of the others, motioning to those behind her. “We srong, ‘owerful. None san agin us!”

Those attacking the humans hesitated, giving the victims the opportunity to wound more. Others broke away, more attracted to Leza’s promises of safety than the opportunity for fresh, life-giving blood. She ran forward, motioning her people back, waving the newcomers towards her. The movements were confusing to everyone involved. Few could distinguish attackers from interlopers, assistance from assault or threat from safety.

Rebecca saw her chance, realizing the plight before her. “Cum, oin us!” she sang. It took a moment, but soon the zombies near her picked up her call, reinforcing Leza’s pleas. Instead of inflaming her people, the active role they played calmed them as they urged the others to join them.

A woman screamed, but she couldn’t see them given the bodies moving between the multiple groups. As the newcomers met Leza’s people, they seemed to swallow them up. Soon they were humming along, even though they didn’t understand what was happening. Still, the common refrain reassured them, giving them something to concentrate on rather than their previous conflict. Another scream, this time by a man, rang out. As jarring as it was, the welcome sound of masses overwhelmed the panic of the few, and the zombies sought out the safety of numbers. They didn’t seem to notice the living humans among them.

As more joined her family, Leza drew further away, closing in on the conflict. Several clung to her, grasping her with their bloody hands for reassurance before she directed them to the group behind her. As those in the back realized what was happening, they surged to the front, calling to the stray zombies as they’d done many times in the past. As confusing as it was, this was old hat for many of them. Their discomfort lay in not knowing the threat. Realizing where everyone stood, and following Leza’s directions, they each played their role, welcoming the strangers as part of their ever-growing fold.

Leza was closing as the gunfire continued. Making sweeping motions, she directed those approaching to separate and go around her, granting her a close-up view of the conflict. Two men were down, one on his knees. The new zombies had backed off and were at an impasse with the humans. The undead were torn between the calls of their kindred and the nearby proximity of life-giving blood.

When the obstructions cleared and the humans observed Leza for the first time, a woman drew a rifle, aiming at her.

“There’s another one!” someone yelled.

Helen, observing from the distance, screamed “Not again,” not taking into account the nearby zombie’s, especially those not yet adapted to the presence of humans. Before anyone else could respond, Leza’s hunters—the stronger, faster zombies she used to hunt game or other zombies—rushed forward. She didn’t utilize them as much now, but they never forgot their training or dedication. They weren’t going to stand aside as she was shot again.

Running at full tilt, almost twenty zombies rushed forwards, growling and snarling. Seeing the new threat, the woman turned her rifle on the approaching undead, ignoring Leza, as did the others with her. Leza, though, was having no part of it.

“No! Don’t shoot them. They’re here to save your lives!” she exclaimed in plain English. She grabbed the woman’s rifle, twisting it out of her hands. Without looking, she turned her back on them and held her hands up, singing specific instructions.

The rushing hunters hesitated, and she pointed out positions for each to stand, which they did. One of the local zombies who’d attacked the humans turned on Leza’s people. It was a short but spectacular battle, as he was quickly put down. When done, her hunters arrayed themselves around the humans, encircling them. The victims of the zombie attack stood aghast at her behavior and the zombie’s unquestioning acceptance of her commands—something they had never witnessed before.

Realizing their fright, Leza ordered her warriors to turn so they were facing out, no longer threatening the survivors, monitoring the surrounding area for other targets. Stepping forward, Leza waved her arm, singing a short command.

“Helen! ‘Um. ‘Ring New zomies, zicis furs!”

Despite the distressed local zombies around her, Helen didn’t hesitate. She pointed out several, issuing sharp commands and waving them forwards. The attack and the gunfire halted, at least temporarily. Leza bid the stray zombies to her as she walked among them, considering their condition.

Helen approached, accompanied by three exceedingly thin undead who appeared skittish, unsure what was happening. Leza turned, indicated two of the attackers. One was missing a limb and hobbling, the other was mortally wounded, bleeding profusely even for a zombie. “Vinish them!” she commanded. Given the clear instruction, their confusion evaporated and they descended on their former companions. The local humans backed up, shocked anew by the violence unfolding before them. Leza pointed out another two to Helen. “Bind their wounds.” The humans were even more shaken by the simple English command.

“You’re saving their lives?”

“They’re no longer a threat to you. They’ll listen to me.”

As the attack continued, Leza approached the survivors, considering them. She shook her head at the two on the ground.